


Nor hold my heart in bitterness of wrath

by hisen



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 19th Century, Boxer Rebellion, British Empire, Historical, M/M, failure to move on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 21:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisen/pseuds/hisen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>June 1900. America pays a visit to England at the height of the British Empire, and England can't let go of the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nor hold my heart in bitterness of wrath

**Author's Note:**

> Short historical piece. Lots of imperialism going on so if that's something that's a no for you, you probably don't want to read this.

He wakes up with an impending sense of dread. It’s normal for England to wake up with the feeling but today he knows why it’s there for once. He bids good morning to the fairies hovering nearby. They wish him good morning and tell him not to worry about today as he wanders into the bathroom. On mornings like this he appreciates the convenience of having running water, even if installing it had been so expensive, as he washes his face before looking at it in the mirror in front of him.

England looks awful. The stress and the sticky humid London nights are getting to him. Maybe he needs to go to the countryside for a week to relax, but he dismisses the idea as he starts to run the bath. With the war in South Africa going like it is, there is no way he can leave his work.

He really wants to look young and energetic today, but all he has managed to do by the time he’s bathed and dressed is look less pale and drawn. 

“We could do a charm for you.” The fairies suggest as he airs his thoughts out loud, he knows it makes the servants anxious when they overhear him (but it’s good to keep them on their toes). He considers it but decides that no, he doesn’t want America to think he cares about America’s opinion of him.

When he looks at the time he curses and rushes downstairs, he hadn’t realised it was getting this late and he eats his breakfast at the same speed he did on the battlefield, no time to read the newspaper like he normally does.

“There is a hansom waiting outside for you, sir.” England thanks his butler – the boy must have got it, finally he’s showing some worth and maybe he won’t have to get rid of him after all. He drains his tea before going outside, but he almost forgets to put on his hat and it feels like a bad omen.

“The Savoy.” He tells the driver before climbing in. The cab lurches as the horses start to trot and England shuts his eyes for a moment as they reach the main streets. He doesn’t know what the boy wants from him, his visits to Europe are rare and when he does come England tries to make sure he sees as little of him as possible. He can feel a headache starting to form as he rubs his temples before opening his eyes. The traffic’s terrible, he wonders if he’s going to arrive on time.

He wonders what he’s going to say to America when he sees him. He never knows how to treat this nation who’s almost a stranger to him, who seems to just share the name of the colony he once loved and nothing else. When he thinks of America he thinks of the child he loved, who he doted on like he hasn’t on any other colony before or since, he can almost feel happy before he remembers how that child turned his back on him (just like everyone else), turned his gun on him, left him for reasons that he still doesn’t understand. A century hasn’t dulled the pain like it should have, it doesn’t matter wherever he ignores America or thinks about him constantly the pain stays the same.

“You’re the British Empire,” he tells himself under his breath, though he knows over the noise of London nobody will hear him, “what’s one rebellious colony who left compared to what you have now?” He thinks of the wars he’s fought this past century, the enemies he’s crushed and the lands he’s gained. Hong Kong, he suddenly thinks to himself, he should send him a telegram to check that China isn’t putting pressure on him among all the posturing the Chinese government is doing.

The cab stops and England calls through the trap door to the driver.

“I’m meeting…” his words fail him for a moment as he tries to work out what exactly he should call America before he continues, “a guest here and then we need to go to the Foreign Office.”

“Half now, guv.” England curses under his breath but pays him for the journey so far regardless. He hears the lever release the doors and then he looks for America.  

He sees him before America sees the cab and him inside it. He feels overwhelmed by conflicting emotions when he does, he wants America to notice him but he is also three seconds away from asking the driver to go before he’s seen. He is tanned, his hair has been lightened by the sun and he has stopped to talk to the doorman briefly and tips him before he goes down the steps. England wouldn’t think it was possible but somehow he’s gotten even taller and bigger than the last time he saw him.

England swallows his emotions as America sees him and…he doesn’t smile like he used to when they met, but he doesn’t frown either as he raises a hand to acknowledge England and walks over to the cab. He opens the door and gets inside, pushing England up against his side of the cab as he sits down. He should have booked a larger cab, damn it.

The cab starts again, and England stares straight ahead, not acknowledging the American who’s just climbed in with him. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to the other country, it feels overwhelming and because he can’t put physical distance between them right now, he chooses emotional distance instead. America chooses to break the silence after several minutes.

“I was looking forward to it raining, ya know. Trust you to not have rain when I actually want it.”

“It is not always raining here, despite what you’re implying, and the weather doesn’t exist solely for your pleasure you idiot.” England snaps and America snorts in reply. He is wondering what on earth he’s doing here, sharing this confided space like this, and he wishes he had denied America’s request for them to meet at his hotel instead of at his office.

“Your crops looked like they need rain. Some of the rivers were drying out too, that’s a problem…”

“Are you quite done dissecting the weather?” England is furious that America noticed the problems this sudden heat wave has brought to his country as he travelled down from Liverpool. It feels like America is sniffling out weaknesses in him, looking to exploit them. He refuses to give him that kind of advantage. America ignores him as he changes topic.

“I’m here about China.”

“Oh god.” England rubs his forehead in irritation. He can’t wait to hear what they’re going to complain about now. “Of course you are.” 

“The situation’s getting serious, we need to act…” America refuses to keep his nose out of China, he can smell a potential market from a mile away and it’s getting on England’s nerves. He has enough rivals in the region without having to add this brat into the mix too. Maybe he thinks because he’s distracted by the Boers this is an ideal time to press the issue.

“Yes, very serious, god knows what a threat the Chinese military are. It keeps me awake at night, it really does.” He can feel America tense next to him but he doesn’t look at him. “And the Chinese government, what a force to behold!” It’s not China that worries him, it’s the Europeans. France and his bloody missionaries, he thinks to himself, could he contain them a little or at least stop them thinking they have a right to meddle in local politics until they have to be protected from the anger of the natives?

“Just take me seriously already old man!” America shouts, and the cab stops before England replies. He ignores America and opens the trap door, paying the driver for the rest of the journey before getting out. He doesn’t bother to check if the other country is following him as he enters the building and he feels a twist of satisfaction when they get inside and he sees the resentment on America’s face at being treated this way.

Good. When he stops acting like a child he’ll treat him like one. As they walk through the corridors to his office, silence sinking over them like a cloud, he starts to compose the telegram he’ll send to Hong Kong. He feels he might need to put a warning against getting too chummy with America in there, seeing America this fired up about China again bodes badly to him.

He puts his hat on the hat stand as he enters his office, and frowns at America as he drops his casually onto it, holding back the nagging that’s budding on his tongue. A part of the messy child he remembers has shown through but he shoves the sudden burst of paternal feeling it brings away. They sit down at his desk and England scans the reports on his desk quickly to see if anything is urgent before continuing. Nothing new from South Africa, he notes, so he settles back in his seat and looks at America.

It’s the first time he’s really looked at America since he got into the cab, and he sees the determination in those blue eyes and mentally prepares himself for the worst.

“Go on then, tell me what you want.” America doesn’t reply, instead he gets up and wanders around England’s office. He knows this disobedience is America trying to prove a point, that he’s an independent nation and doesn’t have to follow what England says – and England is very aware of this – but it still grinds on his nerves. He’s looking out of the window behind them, onto the courtyard, when he finally speaks.

“I want you to acknowledge the notes Hays sent on the Open Door Policy.”

“Hmm.” Of course, he thinks, he’s here about his markets again. The boy should really find a better way to solve his economic problems than forcing his goods onto everyone else.

“Is that a yes?” England clicks his tongue at his presumption.

“It’s not my responsibility, you know that lad.”

“Don’t call me lad.” America says quietly, but there’s a steely undertone to it. “Let me rephrase then if you’re going to be difficult like you always are.”

“I wouldn’t be ‘difficult’ if you didn’t make unreasonable demands of me.”

“My demands are not unreasonable! You always insist on treating me like a…like a…”

“Child?” England can’t keep the smirk out of his voice or off his face. America spins around and slams his fist on England’s desk, it leaves a split in the wood but England refuses to be startled. 

“It was over a hundred years ago, damn it, why can’t you just let it go?” America is leaning over him and England looks up. He’s surprised by what he sees on America’s face, he’s angry like he expected him to be but he also looks desperate, like he’s close to tears. His heart constricts a little, because he remembers seeing that face before (“England, why can’t you stay?”). But there’s something different about it now too, because America isn’t a child anymore.

He’s been ignoring it for over a century but it’s staring him in the face now. America isn’t a child, and the America standing in front of him isn’t a stranger, just the same child grown up. He opens his mouth and then shuts it again.

“Who are you even…” America doesn’t finish his thought and sighs as he shuts his eyes and looks away, moving back towards his seat.  

“Beyond the Open Door Policy, we also need to deal with this revolt in China.” England is impressed by how the way America has returned to topic, as if the previous argument hadn’t happened at all.

“I refuse to send in soldiers just to protect missionaries. It’s unfortunate but they enter these countries knowing the risks, and unlike with France they know not to come crying to us. To help them would be setting a bad precedent.” He is interested to see what America makes of him talking to him like an adult, and he’s not surprised when America is gawping at him like a fish. Too young, he thinks to himself, he can’t treat him like an adult yet.

“Missionaries? I’m not talking about the missionaries. I’m talking about the siege in Peking.” England stares at him and he feels wrong footed, fuck, he didn’t know about this siege. It must have happened overnight, nobody informed him, maybe if he’d actually read the newspaper this morning he would have known. He wouldn’t have been shown up in front of another country like this. “You didn’t know?” America’s voice isn’t mocking, it’s concerned, which is worse. He can see it in the younger man’s face, he thinks England is a fool, an old man, and he can feel himself going red in shame. “England?”

“Of course I knew!” He shouts, because he’ll be damned if he’s going to show any weakness in front of America. “Are you implying I’m some sort of idiot who doesn’t know what’s going on in his own Empire? The bloody cheek of it, you snivelling brat.” The insult flies over America’s head, the look on his face says that he is thinking England’s an idiot but mercifully he doesn’t say it out loud. England doesn’t think he could take the shame.

“It’s not the reason I came but I’m going to be discussing it with the others. We need to co-ordinate our operations, we’re better armed but they have us beaten on sheer numbers. Obviously, I think the American Legation should lead!”

“Over my dead body, our building is bigger and easier to defend.” England snaps back, even without knowing the details he can argue this point.

“We have more marines.”

“And we have colonies in China. I think this is more important to us than you.” If he’s honest he feels that this is one of those points that’ll be decided on the ground than by anyone higher up, but he’s still going to argue for his position.  

“Whatever.” America dismisses the topic like he always does when he’s losing arguments and moves on. It infuriates England. Does he really think he’s a big enough country to ignore the opinions of others like this? “We’re applying pressure on the dowager too. Can we count on your support?” England sighs and looks at America.  Does he really think he’s going to support their government over the other powers? He knows they’d jump at a chance to strip British privileges away. America looks expectant.

“Yes. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“South Africa?” Oh God, England thinks, he would ask about that.

“None of your sodding business.” America doesn’t seem put out, he’d probably expected that reaction from him, and moves on.

 “Opening up your markets?” England can feel his eyebrow twitch at America’s grin.

“Absolutely not, idiot. Is that it?” America gets up from his seat, England starts to look at his reports now that he’s leaving, but he’s surprised when America leans over the desk and tilts up England’s chin with his hands. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” America asks and his voice is low, almost seductive as he leans in. He’s nearly frozen with shock, because this is America who’s doing it and not someone like France who always tries this kind of diplomacy, but his reactions kick in and he shoves America away with enough force that he stumbles backwards into one of the bookshelves lining the wall. America’s strong but he’s still the British Empire.

“I’ll ask you again before I resort to more violent methods: what the fuck were you doing?” America seems as stunned by the situation as England was, rubbing the back of his head where he banged it. England has no sympathy.

“France’s such a liar, he said that’d work…” The implications of America’s words crash into England and it’s the final insult he can take from this upstart brat of a country.

“Get out!” He screams. He has never been this angry with America before, even during the wars they’d fought against each other, because this time he has crossed a line which England hoped he would never cross. “Go back to that fucking wasteland you call home and don’t darken my door again!”

“But I-”

“You think I love you, you stupid idiotic fucking – get out! What kind of fool do you take me for?” He doesn’t realise how untrue his words are until they come out of his mouth. If he didn’t still love America it wouldn’t hurt like this to have him try to use that love against him, he’d be able to treat him like any other country. But America looks like he believes him. There’s anger, shame and possibly even disappointment on his face – serves him right –and he leaves without saying another word.

England rests his head on the desk, headache pounding. He thinks of the child he loved, the adult he still loves despite all the pain he’s caused him, despite the fact he’s almost a stranger to him through England’s own actions and he bites back tears as he curses his own foolishness.

He has a feeling he’ll never know how to deal with America.


End file.
